


A Very Vannevar Thanksgiving

by Falt



Category: L.A. By Night (Web Series), Vampire: The Masquerade
Genre: Character Study, Dubiously Consensual Blood Drinking, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21609238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falt/pseuds/Falt
Summary: Vannevar Thomas' favorite holiday is Thanksgiving#VannevarInventedFriendsgiving
Relationships: Vannevar Thomas (L.A. By Night)/Suzanne Rochelle (L.A. By Night)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	A Very Vannevar Thanksgiving

**Author's Note:**

> I actually did some historical research for this one!  
> Not beta read and posted late because it's just that time of year.

The first time Vannevar Thomas asked Suzanne Rochelle if she would celebrate Thanksgiving with him, she laughed. “What on Earth is Thanksgiving?” she asked, squinting in suspicion, wondering if he was joking. 

Her French accent was thicker, then, not yet mellowed from decades among the Americans. They were still in Europe, exploring after their experience in Versailles, making plans to head back to North America. They’d spent a decade together, thus far. Vannevar adored Suzanne, entranced by her passion and ambition, which was quickly rubbing off on him.

If he could blush, he would have. Thanksgiving was something he’d always celebrated back home in Virginia. Distinct memories of when he was young and alive, with his parents on their meager farm. Thanksgiving marked the end of the harvest, the intervening period between the autumn and when the harsh weather would truly begin. The one time of the year where there was truly plenty, with enough in the cellar and pantry to make it through to the next year. Thanksgiving meant life. After his parents died from some illness ravaging the countryside, the holiday was put aside while he made his way to Richmond, still a teenager, trying to find some merchant to take him in as an apprentice. It was only years later, when he was a merchant in his own right, that he took up the tradition again—inviting his bachelor friends for good drink and good food, to gossip about the eligible young ladies they’d set their sights on, and to celebrate another year gone by.  
And then Vannevar died. The tradition seemed stale those first few years; after all, how does a man who cannot eat or drink celebrate such a holiday? In any case, there was no one to celebrate with—his sire simply laughed at the very notion, and thereafter he never mentioned it again.

Until Suzanne. It was Suzanne that reminded him of what it truly meant to be thankful, who made the prospect of eternity, as exciting as it once seemed, a bit more bearable. And so he explained, carefully and sincerely expressing what the holiday meant to him. Suzanne, to her credit, nodded and smiled, agreeing that they celebrate his silly little holiday if he wished. And celebrated they did, hosting a small gathering of humans and Kindred alike in their rented apartments in Krakow, paying a cook to provide a splendid feast for those who could eat. The Kindred in attendance, of course, drank their fill.

November was nearly over when Suzanne realized Vannevar hadn’t so much as mentioned Thanksgiving. They celebrated every year, one way or another. Perhaps he’d simply forgotten—the weather wasn’t right, the leaves weren’t changing, and they’d been preoccupied by the business with the Anarchs. But his errant behavior was only growing worse, and she knew it was likely that no environmental factors were at play. He looked at her strangely a few nights prior, in such a way that for a split second Suzanne feared he’d forgotten who she was. Instead he spoke as if they were still in San Francisco. She gently reminded him that they were in Los Angeles, and he only nodded and looked away as if deep in thought. Audiences were cancelled for the rest of the night; anyone who complained earned a very convincing threat from a livid Seneschal.

The sun set on Thanksgiving. Suzanne woke from the sleep first, as was typical these nights, gently extricating herself from Vannevar’s embrace. He woke a half hour later, surprised that Suzanne was not at his side as she normally was, despite their disparate waking times. His first thought was that he’d upset her, somehow— but they’d gone to bed content, and Suzanne wasn’t one to imagine slights. He stood and went to the mirror, attempting to tame the curls on his head. He changed into a less wrinkled shirt (he really should stop wearing button-downs to bed) and went downstairs to find his love.

There was music coming from the dining room. He slowly pushed open the grand oak door and went inside. He stopped just inside the entryway, the door thumping shut behind him, causing Suzanne to jump, startled, from where she had been adjusting the tablecloth. She smiled warmly, crossing the room and pulling him into her arms. She gestured grandly at the room. “Happy Thanksgiving, my love.” She whispered in his ear.

A soft smile spread across his lips as he looked around their plush dining room. A string quartet—mortals, he smelled—stood in the corner, playing a familiar sonata. The table was set with fine china and laden with a veritable Thanksgiving meal. Two mortals, a man and a woman, sat at the table, their eyes betraying some dreamlike state that was no doubt Suzanne’s doing. Vannevar chuckled, pulling Suzanne in for a long, deep kiss. 

“I’d forgotten,” he murmured as he pulled away.

“And I remembered for you,” she replied, taking his hand and pulling him toward the table. They sat on the opposite side of the table from the mortals, Suzanne making pleasant conversation in which they easily and readily engaged. A ghoul in their employ arrived bearing two goblets of blood and served the mortals their meal; Vannevar and Suzanne simply watched on (the former quite jealously; the turkey looked excellent), sipping on their appetizers.

When the pie was served, the two stood from their seats, gracefully walking around the table. Suzanne ran her fingers through the hair of her mortal to no response; the manipulation she had performed earlier did well to ensure they would remain calm. Vannevar grinned at her action, biting into his own mortal’s neck. Suzanne followed suit. The quartet paid no mind and continued to play.

The mess was left for their ghoul to clean up. It was a special occasion, after all.

With the Beast blessedly sated, Suzanne and Vannevar exited the dining room, headed toward the sitting room. Vannevar gently pushed Suzanne against a wall before they could get there, capturing her mouth in a kiss. The taste of blood from their meal lingered and comingled. Suzanne’s hands ran up Vannevar’s neck and to his hair, reciprocating in kind. She couldn’t help but grin beneath his lips, thankful to have her lover truly back, if only for a short while.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and (gentle) criticism always welcome. 
> 
> Shout out to Brian and Amelia, as always, for bringing these characters to life.


End file.
